


Closer

by FlukeOfFate



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crying, Daddy Issues, Drunkenness, Dwarrow, Elves, Falling In Love, Fantasy, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Parents & Children, Romance, Slashy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlukeOfFate/pseuds/FlukeOfFate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Gimli reaches his final moments, Legolas reflects on their relationship, its trials and its triumphs. Is it possible for a Dwarf and Elf to truly become one? Or will they never be close enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When It Began

**Author's Note:**

> Gimli is suave in the book, therefore I make him suave here. I love intelligent Gimli. Also, fit Gimli. You can't run across the fields of Rohan for roughly four or five days straight with only a couple hours of sleep and NOT be in somewhat of good shape. 
> 
> I like OTP music mixes. This chapter is brought to you by the following songs:
> 
> At the Beginning - Anastasia OST  
> Respect - Train  
> Friends Forever - Puffy Ami Yumi  
> Something There - Beauty and the Beast OST (Seriously. This one, once heard, cannot be unheard. Imagine the servants as the rest of the fellowship and try not to laugh too hard!)

I watch you now, as your breaths become shorter. Your small form is shuddering as your final moments approach. You smile at me. You are trying to comfort me. Foolish dwarf. As if anything could grant me comfort now. I do not chastise your attempt. I simply draw you nearer and press my face into your thick gray hair. I hold you tightly, as though to embrace you would stop the end from coming. If I told you I was afraid, Gimli, what would you say? I can't bring myself to say it aloud, so I will never know your answer. I feel your hand rest upon my encircling arm. You are pulling me closer, like you always do. We've been pulling each other closer and closer for so many years now...

In Lothlorien, it began. Our hostility hitherto our arrival is but a queer memory now, but then it had seemed important. Both our prides and familial loyalties played their part in our mutual misgivings. It was in that haven of silver and gold that our resolve was broken, and our hearts turned to friendship. It still bothers me, my feelings before that moment we stood before the Lady of Galadhrim. Indeed, deep down I shared Lord Celeborn's anger to the Dwarves—nay, even to you, my friend—and I was just as quick in my heart as he to blame you for Mithrandir's fall in Moria. When she chastised Celeborn for his harsh words to you, Lady Galadriel could just as well have been speaking to me. And you, Gimli, proceeded to defy all preconceived notions and displayed a humility and eloquence that rivaled any Elf. I have never felt so ashamed as in that moment. My kind is paramount in our wisdom—yet there you were, a dwarf, reminding us the meaning of courtesy.

It was guilt that led me to invite you to explore the Golden Wood with me. I remember your face, so full of skepticism, as you accepted my offer. I could not blame you. There had been no friendly words between us. Your acceptance further pricked my conscience, for you did so without accusation, and henceforth treated me as a brother.

That first day we traveled to the eastern ends of Lorien, traversing between wooded glade and flowing waters. I was awash with excitement, pointing out each wonder as we found them. A particular flower, a specific pool of crystal waters, an ancient trail—all were worthy of praise. At one point you began to chuckle. A light and deep rumbling escaped your throat, first in spurts, then flowed like the babbling of the surrounding waterfalls. I asked you what was so funny, worrying you might be making sport of me.

"I just realized," you told me, "the way you are gushing over every blasted leaf. I must have looked just as silly to you, going on and on the way I did in Moria."

There was an awkward silence. I don't know how long it lasted. Your face had taken on a dark shade. You turned away, and I scrambled so say something.

"Gimli!"

You turned back to me.

"I never said...back in Moria..." For some reason I felt foolish and words were slow to come. "I'm sorry, about your kinsmen. I should have said something earlier...I was—"

You silenced me with a wave of your hand and a smile. You told me to forget it. Then: "I think, Master Elf, that is the first time you've ever called me by my name. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten it."

I searched my memory. Was that true? I laughed and replied, "Tell me, Master Dwarf, do you remember my name?"

"Legolas."

The sound of my name upon your lips gladdened my heart. We continued our exploration of Lorien, and our conversation turned into friendly banter. In the days that followed, we discovered much about each other. I fully realized how very Dwarfish you could truly be: loud, brazen, and filled with a love for drink. But more than that, I came to understand the other side of Dwarves: your keen eye for beauty and fine craftsmanship. Your criticisms of Elven architecture and art were insightful (though often brashly stated) and even stirred pleasant conversation from some of the Elves who could speak in common tongue. You truly surprised everyone.

Soon I began to feel more at ease with you than any of my kin. I admitted this to you one night. "Well, Master Elf, it makes sense when you think about it. You Elves are too concerned with appearances."

"Ha! And you Dwarves do not care enough!" I exclaimed.

"Not true, Master Legolas. We simply place emphasis on different things. You Elves spend so much time pruning yourselves inside and out, you have forgotten how to relax. I think you like my company because you needn't concern yourself about what a Dwarf thinks."

"Nay, Gimli! I value your opinion, greatly!"

"Aye, I think now you do. But not so, before. And because of that, we can walk as equals, and now I will not judge you even if you do look like a drowned squirrel!"

"What? I don't look like a drowned—Ai!" You launched me into one of the cascading pools.

"Now you do!" You laughed mischievously, and I glared at you and rose up to snatch your arm and force you to join me into the cold pond with a great splash. I laughed as you resurfaced, sputtering. "And now, Master Dwarf, we are truly equals!"

You regained your footing and laughed wickedly. The water fight that ensued was an immature and uncouth display—and I did not care. For that moment, nothing else existed; no war, no Sauron, no ring. All that mattered was besting you in that merry battle.


	2. Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli and Legolas go to Fanghorn. Fluff ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the following songs:
> 
> Stay With You - The Goo Goo Dolls  
> Brothers Under the Sun - Spirit: Stallion of the Cimerron OST

I love you. You know it already—we've said it enough in the past. I don't say it now, because it would feel like 'goodbye' and I'm not ready for that. You seem to relax in my arms. I realize you are sleeping. I untangle myself from you and lay you back upon your bed. I kiss your forehead. I think about a faded scar there. It only shows a little, and recedes into your hairline. I trace it with my fingertip.

I had lost track of you in Helm's Deep. When Aragorn told me you'd been separated in the fray, fear leaped into my heart. I tried to cover my fear, saying I wished to share with you my latest tally. Truth be told, I could barely keep focus. I only killed two more that night. When we found you the next day, I thought I might faint at the sight of the bloodied bandage wrapped around your head. But you were the same old Gimli, glib, smiling, and more than happy to inform me of your final count. You had beaten me by one.

It was strange for me. I had never cared for a non-elf before, and I was suddenly stuck with thoughts of your mortality. I hovered around you for days after, when you refused to take rest. Even when it was Aragorn dressing your wounds, I was never far off. I refused to let you ride with anyone else.

We made our promise in Fanghorn. You were terrified of the forest, and for your sake I rode near as possible to Mithrandir as our group passed through all to quickly. How I yearned to explore them! I told you of my desire, and tried to sooth your anxiety. You argued that the caves of Helm's Deep were more magnificent than any forest. Despite my skepticism, the words that dripped from your lips moved me to make you the bargain: Come with me to truly see Fanghorn, and we would share the wonders of your caves. In the end, I conceded. Your Dwarven appreciation of beauty proved too keen. But I think, more than your caverns of wonder, you took my breath.

Gimli, how is it, that you always manage to surprise me? Elves oft describe Dwarves as uncomely, but I challenge any living being to find naught but beauty as you beheld the Glittering Caves. I am certain my gaze rested upon you more than the elegant clouds of colored stone spires that cradled us, and I was relieved that you were too distracted to notice. These feelings were new, and I was more than a little perplexed. When we emerged our friends asked my reaction. I was too flustered, and pointed them to you to describe it. You were bristling with pride until I reminded you that we were off to Fanghorn, as you had promised.

You fear of the place had not diminished. You sat in front of me, on my insistence, so you could better see. As we approached, riding upon Arod, you were doing your best not to quiver in fright. Every shadow was cause for alarm, and you held your axe tight against your belt.

"Gimli, my friend, worry not! Does not the forest feel lighter now? Let us dismount and make camp. You will feel better on your feet."

"Aye, let me off this beast. I hunger for solid ground. Yet I shall endure riding a bit longer, if only Arod decide to stray away from these woods again!"

"Treebeard himself gave us welcome, my friend. So long as only Orcs are cut with your blade, you have nothing to fear."

"I gave my word to these trees before, and I say it again: I shall cut no timber here. Be that as it may, I pray you take charge of the kindling."

I laughed. "I will, to ease you mind. Come. It is hours until nightfall. Let us continue." We went onwards, deeper into the trees. I led Arod, and you stayed close to me. We did not hurry. I wanted to savor my surroundings—to listen, to see, to hear, to smell, to touch. You grew frustrated, and asked if I knew what I was doing, and grumbled about 'flighty elves with no plans'.

We found a clearing and I allowed Arod to graze while we made camp. There was a small outcrop of boulders, and you instantly set up your sleeping pallet and sat to rest with your back to it. I joined you.

"Friend, what happened to that Dwarven endurance of yours? Surely you are not yet tired." I teased.

"Legolas, you may see beauty in this wood, yet I cannot, anxious as I am."

"Are you really so miserable?" I asked, for by now I was worried that this might truly have been too much for you.

You sighed. "I already told you. 'Where you go, I will go' and that shall never change. But I implore you my friend, let the next place you go be more fitting to a Dwarf!"

I smiled. "You shall pick our next destination."

"Erebor." You said without thought.

"Revenge for bringing you here?"

"Nay, friend. Naught but the desire to share my world with you, just as you now share this with me. Legolas, come, make me understand."

You were facing your fear for me. I was honored and humbled. I told you to lay down next to me upon the grass. "There's music all around us" I said. "Quiet, and listen. Do you not hear the wind in the trees? The music of the birds floating all around us? They are the messengers of Manwe, his ears and eyes. His song echoes. Hear it."

"Manwe calls to Elves, Legolas. Not to Dwarves."

"Shhh. The trees are dancing to the sound. It is Yavanna, mother of all that grows. The fruits of her labor are collected here. I wager this forest may know her touch first-hand, old as it is. And the Ents, should we meet them, perhaps they may tell us the tale."

I took your hand. "The trees extend their roots deep into the earth, twisting, embracing even the rocks you hold so dear. They are bonded as Yavana was to Aule, her husband, steadfast master of the earth beneath our feet, and creator of the first Dwarves. Does it not strike you, Gimli, the irony? Elves of the trees and Dwarves of the earth distrust each other, yet our origins are tied?"

"I would see the friendship restored, just as we have demonstrated. It can be done, in time." you replied. You seemed more relaxed, and turned towards me.

I asked how you felt. Your answer puzzled me for some time after. You squeezed my hand and said:

"Closer."


	3. Under the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They visit Erebor. Gimli isn't a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the following songs: 
> 
> Lucky - Jason Mraz & Colbie Caillat  
> All for You - Sister Hazel

Sometime in the night, breath left your body. I am trying so very hard to wake you. I cry out your name, but for all my effort no sound escapes my throat, like the noise is eaten by the cold dark void which presses in on me...suffocating...

I wake with a start, and curse myself for having drifted off to sleep. You are still here, sleeping, and breathing. Alive.

Someone has left food on the beside table. Who put it there? Mithrandir? No, that didn't seem right. He had indeed been among the many who have been checking in on us these last few days. Maybe The Lady, or a servant of her's left it? I sense it is more for me than for you. I have not been eating lately, and more than once you have prodded me to take nourishment. Someone else has no doubt taken notice, but I know not who, nor do I care as I hear you whisper something in your sleep. I cannot make it out, but I take your hand all the same and reply with a soft tune. There are no words. It is something like a lullaby that I only vaguely remember from my earliest years. Your hands are cold, and I rub them in my own. I should get another blanket. There is a chest of linens by the foots of the bed, and I search for something suitable. Inside, I find a memory of my first visit to Erebor.

When we arrived from Fanghorn, the evidence of the battle with Saruman still lingered. In true Dwarven fashion, your people had already made much progress in restoring the splendorous gates and walls. The carvings and statues at the entrance were broken, rubble was being piled and sorted. Craftsman were already out, designing grander and more majestic details to replace the old.

We received many a stare as we rode in on Arod. Workers forgot their tasks to take time to gawk at the site of an Elf and Dwarf together on horseback. By now, this was not so strange an occurrence, but on this occasion I worried that you might be unnerved at your own kin's reaction.

"Let them think what they will," you said. "They will get over it soon enough." You craned your neck to look back and smile at me. "There are only two people I am concerned with accepting you here: Dain, and my father. Beyond them, no opinions matter."

You father had been on your mind much during our journey. You admitted that you were anxious for news of him, but all we knew at the time was that Erebor had seen battle, and prevailed. I knew Mirkwood was no less effected by the war, but as promised, we had traveled to your home first. Something told me that you and your father should be our priority. My own father, King Thranduil, was a stubborn fellow, and I doubted he would not be waiting for me with a warm greeting, followed by "Why are you late?" Yes, there was no way he had not survived intact.

Sentries stopped us at what remained of the main gates.

"Gimli, son of Gloin, at your service!"

There came happy shouting as your kinsmen recognized you, and they gathered about us. Despite their joy at your return, my presence still put them ill at ease. More than one questioned my presence.

"The Elf is Legolas. He is a trusted friend, and he is my guest. Until the King says otherwise, he shall be treated with all the respect and hospitality Dwarves can offer." Your voice was commanding, and the other Dwarves obeyed. Up to then, I'd rarely seen you act with such authority. It almost made me laugh, to remember that you were, in fact, a Lord amongst your people. I stifled the outburst, lest I seem rude. "Now then, friends, where may I find Dain, and my father?"

But Dain was dead. His son, Thorin the Third, ruled in his place. Messengers were sent ahead of us to inform him of our arrival. Word was sent to your father as well, and I noted the relief on your face when we learned of his good health.

Thorin, I found out, was your cousin, and a close friend. He was but 13 years your senior and was indeed overjoyed to see you—almost as overjoyed as your father. Gloin was a bundle of excitement and practically danced at the sight of you. He gathered you up in a great fatherly embrace, followed by a great slamming of his forehead to yours. It was one greeting I would never get used to.

Thorin was far more accepting of our friendship than Gloin who, once he remembered that I was the son of his former jailer, began to protest. But you were steadfast, and declared that you would not stay in Erebor if I were not welcome.

I was flush with embarrassment. I later scolded you for giving your father such an ultimatum. It seemed underhanded. Of course your father would welcome me after such a threat! By Elbereth! I believe he might have welcomed Thranduil himself! There was no honor in using your father's love against him.

You were angry after my admonishment.

"Do you think me so petty, Master Elf?" you asked with fire in your eyes. "Do you take me for a child? I do not say such things for the sake of gaining the upper hand!" Then softly you said, "I meant it, Legolas. I will not stay in a place where you are not welcome. I would not be content, otherwise."

My heart quickened at your confession. I felt there was more, but nothing further was said.

Luckily, your father did not make war against me. Nor did he welcome me. But tolerance was taken for what it was, and you showed me your home. You shared your rooms with me, as there were none to spare for guests, Elf or not; too damaged were many of the dwellings. Given your status, you had space to spare. You insisted I take your bed, as I was your guest, and it was truly the only thing large enough to accommodate me. I almost argued that I didn't actually need to 'sleep', but you were trying so hard to keep up with the customs of Dwarven hospitality that I held my tongue. You were contented with a smaller lounge. Gloin stayed to his own chambers, but despite his coolness to me, he did not shy away from meals in the Great Halls. He joined us if only to converse with you, to learn more about what happened with the Ring. I think your stories improved his opinion of me, but he did not try to show it.

Despite the war-ravaged state of the halls, Erebor was still impressive. Each day you led me somewhere new. We fell into a habit of helping with repairs in each new section. The other Dwarves grew used to me as I helped them shovel debris and ran buckets of water from place to place. No doubt they found it entertaining to have an elf scurrying about doing 'dirty work', but soon they grew accustomed to me, and began to speak with me openly. The kingdom's beauty and the loosening tensions notwithstanding, I ventured outside often. I yearned for soft breezes and light as much as you desired the comfort of good bedrock. Sometimes you went with me. Other times, you were busy trying to find the most perfect jeweled settings for Lady Galadriel's hair. On those occasions I would come back to find you perched at a work table, bidding me to give you my opinion of your latest design.

The end of the first week spent in Erebor, Thorin declared a feast in our honor. Had circumstances allowed it, he would have held it on our arrival, but as it was, preparations had to be made. It was truly a Dwarven celebration, complete with food, spirits, music, and more spirits. Songs were sung with a vivaciousness that made even the most cheerful of Elven music sound dull. The hammering of drums was nearly drowned out by the sound of dancing feet—my own among them, as you pulled me up join in the group dances. I could not say no. All eyes were upon me as I began, quite ungracefully, gradually learning the rhythms. Soon I was just as overcome with the same fervor of the crowd. You were right in Lorien. Elves are too obsessed with appearances. It was only when I forgot myself that I began to fit in. I drank merrily. I joined in songs to which I scarcely knew the words—some so crass that I blushed to think of my behavior afterward. By the end of the evening, my head was spinning. Everything was too loud, too hot, too crowded—and it was perfect. But all good things come to an end, making room for new beginnings.

The party had dwindled. You and I were practically stumbling over ourselves as we headed for your quarters, dodging prone Dwarves who hadn't managed to make it back to their own dwellings. You joked about my 'Elvish grace' as I fumbled, and I laughed mercilessly when you fell through the door to your rooms.

"What was that about grace, Master Dwarf?"

"Alas! It seems the very mountain is against me. It quakes beneath my feet, I am certain!"

"Alas, indeed! What times are these, that stone should betray a Son of Durin?" I tried to help you up, but we both ended up on the floor. Another fit of laughter overtook us.

"Perhaps, we should get up?" I suggested, still laying on the fur rug. "Or is the floor the traditional sleeping place after a Dwarven feast?"

"I should say it is! It would save me my dignity."

I turned on my side, face to face with you. "I would not question it. Far be it from me to infringe on your traditions! I shall most graciously stay on the floor."

So we stayed there, in companionable silence, laying on the floor like fools. Minutes passed, maybe even an hour. Your eyes were shut, and your body was relaxed. I stared at you for some time. There was a hint of a smile on your face. A soft snore announced your slumber. Soon I was feeling stable enough to get up, so I rose and made my way to the bed and sat. Warm furs and feathered pillows made for a restful sleeping place—one that you needed more than I. Determining myself to be sound of body, I decided I would not allow you to spend the night passed out on the floor. Certainly, you would curse me in the morning for treating you like a babe, but I did not care. What was that saying you mortals are so fond of? 'You will catch your cold death?' Or at least, I thought that was it. I did not know. Elves do not suffer mortal sickness. And although the bedrock walls were softened with pelts and great tapestries, the stone chambers could still get cold.

Despite my best attempts to not disturb your slumber, you gave a snort and opened one eye. "...not a child, Master Elf."

"Certainly not, Master Dwarf. Do not worry. I will speak of this to no one." I tried to steady myself against the wall when you pushed me away, only to find the large wall hanging which loomed over the bed. It came down, its thick fabric completely covering us. It took a moment for the both of us to realize what had happened, and any grumblings about your dignity were forgotten as we emerged from the tapestry. It was of deep blues and greens, with borders of black, red, and gold designs. Gold runes were stitched perfectly among the patterns.

"Blasted thing. I'll have to secure it more tightly," you muttered as you examined it. You were wide awake now.

"It's beautiful," I commented. "What do the runes say?"

"Hm? Oh. It is the names of my fore-bearers, directly descended from Durin. Right there is my father's name."

"Which one is yours?"

"It isn't on here."

I frowned. "Why not?"

You looked sheepish. "Well...tradition dictates that my name be sewn in after I marry, by my wife. But as I have none, well, it won't be added. At least, not until I die."

"You are so certain you will not marry?" Funny, how the thought of you marrying eclipsed thoughts of your death. I was too anxious to hear your answer to pay much attention to how you hid a blush.

"Well...I mean...there aren't many Dwarf women...and most Dwarves have married by my age, or they do not at all. I only have one chance, you know?"

"What do you mean?" I had never thought about the mating customs of Dwarves before. Elves mated for life. Remarrying was practically unheard of. Adultery was unthinkable.

"Dwarves only love once. It is Aule's design, I suppose. For us, it is all or nothing. We will covet our love as we do our gold. But woe it is to the Dwarf who's love is one-sided! For he will never love another."

Unable to stop the question, I blurted out, "Have you loved?"

The surprise on your face was unmasked. After a moment of awkward mumbling you finally answered, cautiously. "It is something I have yet to discover." You were unsettled. I apologized for my audacity. Not much was said for the rest of the night. You rolled up the tapestry and set it aside.

I did not see it again, until this very moment.

It is softer than I remembered. The colors are more vivid in the daylight than in the firelight of Erebor. The runes shine brightly and seem alive beneath my fingers. I feel the corner's of my mouth lift. I don't think I've smiled in days, but the memory, and the thoughts of all that followed has lifted my spirits. I drape the heavy fabric upon you, and adjust it till it is secure, cradling you.

Like a child...

This time, you remain sleeping.


	4. Finding Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the right words are hard to find, or just too difficult to say. Confessions!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 brought to you by:
> 
> Nothing I have Ever Known - Spirit: Stallion of the Cimerron OST  
> Can't Fight this Feeling - Reo Speedwagon  
> As Long as You're Mine - Wicked

Two days after the celebration at Erebor, you declared it time for us to travel onward to Mirkwood. There was no warning, simply "It's time we were off. We've things to do and see. Come, come!"

I had no idea what was wrong—for surely something had happened to have changed your mood so drastically—but you would only insist that we hurry. I wanted to know what was going on, but the more I pried the more agitated you became. You practically growled at me in frustration, and shouted that your business was your own.

There was a heavy weight in my chest when you yelled at me. We had not quarreled like this since before Lothlorien. Nay, the tone in your voice was far more harsh than anything I had ever heard of you. You were lashing out, like an animal in a cage. First I was startled, then hurt, then angry. And soon I found myself just as vocal in my outrage.

"Curse your stubbornness! Let it never be said that secrecy is lost among the dwarves. You would remain silent ere you say what troubles you to save face, whilst you treat friend as foe! Tell me, Master Dwarf, what wrong I have committed, that you so distrust me?"

Your face fell like an avalanche. I instantly regretted my words, for then your eyes held naught but pain. You beseeched my pardon.

"Legolas, I cannot tell you as I am now. I have not the words."

Despite my feelings, I laughed aloud. "Gimli, son of Gloin, struck dumb? I did not think to ever see the day speech would fail you, dear friend."

I was hoping to lighten the mood. Somehow, it was not the right thing to say. You grew yet more gloomy. Kneeling, I clasped a hand to your shoulder in both apology and forgiveness. "I shall not force it from you, Gimli. I shall only pray you find the words ere long." Your only reply was to clasp my shoulder in return and meet my gaze.

We rode on. The journey started with heavy silence. It was several miles before you felt inclined to speak again, and when you did it was to ask about Mirkwood, or talk about the stories you'd heard about the place. I confirmed and denied your inquiries with mostly one word answers. Soon you began delving into stories about your youth, going with your father on trading expeditions, how you'd never seen an elf until your first trip, and your father had refused to let you speak to any, except when negotiating a price.

I listened closely to every word. I had grown to love the sound of your voice, especially when you went on your diatribes. Your rumbling baritone and flowing descriptions enchant me as much as an Elven song. In this instance, I found myself leaning forward, narrowing what little space that existed between us. Before I was fully aware of it, one hand had ceased to grip Arod's mane, and was instead snaking around your waist, and my head dipped to rest atop your fiery mane. Your words stopped, alerting me to my actions. My heart pounded, and my body froze. I had unintentionally overstepped some boundary, but to pull back seemed a more severe taboo. So I moved not. I breathed not. I waited.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?" I croaked with a sudden dry mouth.

"I'm not angry with you."

I let out a deep sigh. You thought I was fretting over our fight.

"I know."

I removed my hand and quickened our pace. The conversation ceased, but this time the silence was not so heavy.

If I had deemed Fanghorn lightened in wake of this war, it was nothing to the change in my home. The darkness that poisoned our land had been purged, and light and life filled the trees. The spawn of Ungoliant were moving on, and the remaining webs were breaking. I was filled with joy, for I had not seen such swells of life in the forrest since I was Gimli's height. I was glad that Gimli was there to see my childhood home in such health, and would not be subject to the darkness that had once sheathed its glory.

My father was alive and happy at my return. As yours had been in Erebor, my kin was shocked to see a Dwarf in my company. My father did not speak against your presence, save for the initial surprise, but I could tell his words of welcome were strained. I could not help but notice the way he looked upon you with disdain, like your were some fly in his soup, and it left me feeling irate. I heard faint whispers among those of my father's court, snickering in Sindarin, incredulous that I had brought a Dwarf back home. When Thranduil inquired the details of our quest, his attention was only to me. I knew then how you felt in Erebor, for I found myself toying with words, seeking to impress upon him your great deeds, just as you had done so of me to Gloin. I wanted no one to doubt you. I made haste to tell him of Lothlorien, and you did not waste time speaking the praises of Galadriel, and spoke lovingly of the gift of three hairs that you kept by your breast at all times.

You did not understand the hush that fell upon all who heard you.

You did not know—could not have known—the magnitude of such a gift. You did not realize that to ask a strand of hair of the Lady was not unheard of. You had no inkling, that great Elves of old had once upon a time made such requests, and had been thusly and quickly denied.

No one could believe a dwarf was given such an honor. I smiled, for I had known. Had they known you, they would not have been so dumbfounded. Your soul, Gimli, is one of the purest I have ever encountered. Galadriel saw it, and bestowed you with the highest of rewards. No more remarks about your character were made that night.

Remarks about my character, however, were a different story. In the days that followed I could overhear whispers that perhaps I was becoming too Dwarfish. At least once I found myself snapping at one gossipy youth, informing him that he might do well to learn a bit of Dwarfishness himself. I felt guilty afterwards, for had I not been much like that Elf before the quest? Would not I have said such things if our roles were reversed? You told me to put it out of my mind, for certainly ignorance is only the fault of the ignorant if they choose to remain so.

"Let us change minds," you said.

So, we did. At least we tried. Looking back, there was marginal success.

I showed you my favorite childhood haunts. I brought you to the training grounds, and attempted to teach you archery. There was much laughter as we decided that you needed a child-sized bow, but you took it in stride. Although more laughter followed at your attempts to shoot (you loosed a dozen arrows, missed half that, and we almost did not find four of those) your skill at throwing axes was enough to awe those Elves who had come to watch the spectacle.

Elves are not known for using axes. You decided that it should be your turn to have some fun by teaching a few maneuvers to any Elf brave enough. Or at to least me. So, you showed me some forms, and handed me one of your axes. Axe wielding feels more like a feat of juggling than anything else, and I had never been schooled in juggling. I was sloppy, and I was unused to the weight of an axe. Twice, it flew out of my hands, and you narrowly dodged what might have been a devastating blow. But soon I had a basic pattern down, and you suddenly yelled for me to defend, and I barely managed to block three of your blows before you tripped me with the blunt side of your weapon and I toppled backwards. You swung about, and your axe stopped just inches about my head.

You looked down at me and laughed. "Ah little princeling, you should see your face!"

The other Elves were on their feet, looking just as startled as I felt, and surely fearing the Dwarf had injured me.

I called to them as they ran to check on me. "I am fine! Gimli wields his axe as well as I wield my bow!"

Gimli helped me up. "Worry not, friends! I shall be revenged on him later!" I assured my kin.

There was some grumbling about the recklessness of the display, but many were intrigued that you had brought me down so easily. Or rather they were intrigued that a Dwarf had brought me down. I took the opportunity to challenge my kinsman to your axe, and a few surprisingly obliged.

I watched as you danced with your weapon, more graceful than I had ever seen you. You gripped the shaft with strong and nimble hands. I felt a sudden swell of jealousy for the tool in your grasp. I wanted those hands on me, instead. I wanted to feel their heat and strength on my body. I felt flushed and overwhelmed with unbidden desire. I had to excuse myself.

You asked if I had indeed been hurt in our spar, and I assured you I was fine. I just need some time alone.

"Go then. I will be in my chambers. Find me when you are refreshed," you finally said, accepting that I wanted privacy.

I nodded, and ran off, leaving you in confusion. I needed to be alone. What thoughts were these, screaming through my head? There was a fire consuming my heart that could not be quenched—at least, not by anything but your touch. Passion raged through me with terrifying intensity.

Not long after, my father found me in my chambers. He was concerned, and in a rare display of fatherly affection, he embraced me and asked for me tell him my troubles. How could I explain such feelings to my father, who spent so much of his life teaching me that Dwarves were a selfish, deceiving race, uncultured and dirty, with no care for anything other than rarest of minerals? He would never accept that I had fallen for a Dwarf. Oh, by Elbereth, how I had fallen! I knew it then for certain.

I wanted to keep it inside, to try and stifle these feelings, let them burn out. This love was not possible. You were a Dwarf. A Dwarf loves but once, and how many times had you proclaimed your love for the Lady of the Wood?

"Woe is to the Dwarf who's love is one-sided," you had told me. Let the same be said of Elves, Men, and Hobbits.

My father tried to coax answers from me, but I let few escape. I think he may have known, if only a fraction, what trouble lay in my heart. Even so, I could not bring myself to speak openly.

I could not find the words.

It struck me then, why we had departed so suddenly from the Lonely Mountain.

I sought you out the moment my father left me. I didn't even knock when I arrived at your quarters. I was irrationally upset with you. It was easier to be angry than to wallow in self pity. You were startled at my entry.

"You quarreled with your father!" I accused, without any preamble.

Confusion was replaced with trepidation.

"You did not bid him farewell, when we left," I continued. ""Wherefore did you not tell me?"

"I could not. I did not want to burden you."

"It was over me, then, that you argued?"

You glared at me then. "You said that you would not force this. I trusted you would keep your word."

"You do not deny it?"

"No, I do not. And no further shall I speak on the subject," you informed me. "If you wish to continue to count yourself my friend, you will no more."

"Friendship is the cause for my anger!" I was shouting, and I knew it wasn't fair. "If you still count me as friend, you would say what troubles you."

"LEGOLAS!" Your voiced boomed, before you sunk heavily into an armchair, sighing. "It is for the sake of our friendship that I must remain silent!"

Your bellowing somehow managed quelled my anger enough to realize that I needed calm down. Still, I was determined to learn the truth. You buried your face in one of your large hands. You seemed to shrink before me, as I knelt down beside you. I felt awful that I had made you so close yourself. Not knowing how else to say it, or what else I could do, I placed one hand on your knee and leaned in close to your face.

"Please, Gimli," I whispered, "I would not have you suffer alone. Please, Find the words."

You shuddered, but did not pull away. "You shall hate me when I tell you, yet you shall hate me if I do not. It is not fair."

"Never."

You shook your head. I almost thought you would remain silent, but after a moment, you began to speak.

"The night before we left, my father confronted me. He summoned me to his chambers, and announced that he was disgusted with my behavior the night of the feast."

I did not follow.

"I did not understand what he meant. He rattled off the usual—You were an Elf, and I am a Dwarf, and that such friendship was fundamentally unnatural. To frolic with you like a child, freely. He said that you could never be truly trusted, and that you would betray me, eventually. I naturally defended your honor. Then he..." you took a deep breath. It seemed you had come to the hard part.

"Yes?"

"My father, he...he accused me of being in love with you." You were determined to look away from me.

"Oh." What else was I supposed to say? There was a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Well...that is just...silly." Yes, silly. There was no other word for it. "After all, your love is reserved for Lady Galadriel, is it not?"

"Aye," you said, solemnly, "I have love for the Lady. But she is the sun, her light blazing for all to see...and I am but the moon, yearning to touch so rare a gem, but chase her as I may in the sky, I shall be ever scorched by her radiance, and forced to fall back and heal the burns. A moth does not love the flame, Legolas. It is merely enthralled with the beauty. The Lady is dear to me, but admiration and affection is far from truly loving."

"Oh," I said again. Then it finally dawned on me, a seemly impossible thing. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do not be daft. Do you love me?"

"...aye." It was barely audible. Never had such a small sound bewildered me so. I felt dizzy, happy, scared, and relieved all at once.

"Please, Legolas," you pleaded with me, "Do not hate me. I beg of you. I understand if we cannot be friends, but I could not bare it if you hated me."

"I'm sorry, Gimli. We cannot be friends," you succumbed to a sob, and I turned your face to meet mine. "We cannot be friends," I repeated, my forehead now hovering close to yours, "because I desire so much more than that."

Your eyes widened as I brushed my lips to yours, your beard tickling my face, softer than I had expected. I pulled back slowly, waiting for your reaction.

"Legolas? Do not play, I cannot take it."

"I do not play," I insisted. "I love you." I kissed you again, more firmly this time. When I pulled back, you mumbled something along the lines of 'it can't be', so I threw myself into the third kiss and did not stop until you kissed me in return.

We stayed that way for a long time, tasting and holding each other. Hands began roaming—those strong hands I had been craving just hours before—hot and tender on my skin. I pulled you from the chair, never breaking apart, and awkwardly urged you to the bed. I wanted you. I would not let you go.

There was more kissing, lips now wandering to new territory. You nipped my neck and I gasped at the sensation. I ran my hands through your hair and pulled reflexively as you reached down and squeezed my buttocks. It was hot, and soon my clothes were too restrictive. Soon we were disrobed and our bodies pressed together in a heated embrace. I was on fire, panting, needing something I had not felt before. My loins ached with new sensations, and instinctually I rubbed against you, your hardness mirroring my own. I groaned. We were on our sides, grasping each other, not daring to let go. I pulled you to me, needing more than ever to get—

"Closer!" I gasped.

You suddenly parted your legs and pulled me on top of you. The magnitude of what were were doing occurred to me. I halted you from anything further.

"Gimli? You realize what this means, do you not? If we continue," I cautioned, "we shall be bound before Iluvatar, completely. No turning back."

I shall never forget the way you looked at me then, and told me plainly: "We are already bound. Love me fully."

You gave yourself to me then, taking all of me, until we were spent. And soon after, I gave all myself to you.


	5. Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and Gimli's new relationship is not to their fathers' liking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 sponsored by these tunes:
> 
> You'll Be In My Heart - Phil Collins (Tarzan OST)  
> Time for Miracles - Adam Lambert (For some reason this felt right, but not really accurate...idk)

Father has been in to check on me. He does not say much. He still does not understand, even after all this time. I don't know if he can. Time is running out. Perhaps he is simply waiting for that moment when you will finally cease to be a part of the picture. No. I am not giving him his due credit.

Father was outraged when we announced our espousal. For all his ranting, which included the expected disgust and exasperation a union between and Elf and a Dwarf would bring, he was actually even more upset that my lack of propriety. He felt that I should have told him properly of the situation before hand, and even given him the chance—unlikely though it was—to bless such a union. I doubted he would have granted such a blessing, but his point was taken.

He did not disown me, and for that I have been ever grateful. I had been prepared to cut ties if it came to that. You were relieved. Parting with your father, you admitted, was the most painful thing you had ever endured. Yet for that, you assured me, losing my love would have cut far more deeply. That I would not suffer thus was a weight off your shoulders, but mine became heavy, knowing the rift I had caused between you and Gloin.

We did not make our union public, but whispers echoed about the nature of our relationship. We were not ashamed, but our statuses—I, a Prince of the Woodland Realm,; and you, a Lord of Erebor—were too important to let such a 'scandal' complicate matters. So, for many years, the only people to know the truth about 'us' were Thranduil, Thorin, and Gloin.

As he had accepted our friendship, Thorin so accepted our union. You told him upon our second trip to Erebor, some months after our first night together. He laughed heartily, and then hugged us both. Apparently, Gloin was not the only one to have noticed your affection for me. You revealed that after your argument with you father, you had sought counsel with Thorin. Family is important to Dwarves. The King had not been willing to stand between a father and son. Nor did he wish to make me unwelcome in his kingdom. In the end, he had washed his hands of the matter, declaring that you needed to work things out with Gloin. If Gloin accepted me, then I would be welcomed. Until then, he would treat us as guests, but no greater bond was allowed. I felt he was a coward, and slinking away from a difficult situation. He was, but to his credit, he spent much time trying to persuade Gloin to accept us, once you had left.

Gloin said nothing when you greeted him. He did not utter a sound when you told him. He remained silent as you pleaded with him. In the end, he just turned away, leaving you broken and me to pick up the pieces. I loved you as best I could, physically and emotionally, trying to fill the empty space he had left. Still, it was weeks before I was graced with a true smile.

It came when we received word that Thorin had granted your request to establish a Dwarf Colony at the Glittering Caves. Few things made you happier than that place. Elessar and the people of Rohan wished to establish trade routes between Erebor and Minas Tirith, as well as with the newly-named Greenwood. My own father had allowed me to make arrangements to bring Elves to Ithilien for similar reasons.

Both these places held promise for us. They would become our havens. Our duties oft kept us apart, especially during the first years of colonization, and always the separation was dreadful. After such long periods, one of us would make the trip from one realm to the other, and we would fall into each other's arms, joining like drops of water. It was sometimes days before we would emerge from our rooms. No one questioned what we did in private—it was an ill-kept secret—and few took the time to judge. In our new homes, our loved flourished.

For many years, I was happier than I had ever recalled, but your joy was marred by Gloin's rejection. Then came that message from Erebor, urging a hasty return to the Lonely Mountain. When I asked the matter you replied stoically.

"My father is dying."

You took me with you. I was perhaps the last thing Gloin would want to be reminded of in his last days, yet I could not let you face his death alone. I would not abandon you.

When we arrived, Thorin greeted us.

"He is in his chambers. He does not have long. He has been asking for you."

I squeezed your shoulder, when you hesitated. Neither you nor I knew what to expect. I kissed you, not caring who saw, before urging you to pass through the door, promising I would be right outside. I waited for many minutes, trying like mad to hear through the stone door, to no avail. Dwarf doors are impressively soundproof. I eventually made myself comfortable, sitting against the wall on the floor. Thorin joined me.

"I had hoped Gloin would have called for you to come sooner," he said. "Alas, Gloin is more stubborn than most."

I smiled weakly. "I have grown used to such stubbornness."

"Gloin is a good man," he said, "I did not think he would take this grudge to the grave. Not if it meant of losing his son."

"Gimli is losing his father." I stated bitterly.

"Aye." He didn't say anything after that. Thorin was losing kin as well. I did not wish to further the conversation. Then without warning, I did hear something. A booming voice ordering, "Bring him!" and the door opened scarcely a second after. You pulled me in before I could say anything.

Gloin was on his bed, surrounded by his worldly possessions. They were stacked like a monument to his wealth, honoring his life's achievements. I realized that this was Dwarven custom, to allow the dying to gaze upon their possessions. A Dwarf with wealth could rest easy, knowing his material value.

Gloin locked his eyes on me.

"So here is the Elf who stole my son," he accused. He did not look pleased, but I could not describe him as truly angry.

"At your service," I replied.

He snorted. "At your service, indeed." Gloin seemed to be trying to stare me down, but I refused to let him. Finally he just lay his head back and stared at the high stone ceiling. "Gimli brings you back to Erebor in the hour of my death. Why do you come whence you are not welcomed?"

It was a challenge, I realized. One we both issued. I have never been one to back down.

"I come not for you, but for your son."

"And what does my son need of you?"

"That which you refuse to give him."

"And what do I deny him?"

"Comfort. Acceptance. Love."

"And you give him these things?"

"Freely."

"Why?"

"Selfishness."

Gloin did not expect that answer. "You contradict yourself."

I resolutely shook my head. "To deny him these things, is to deny myself. To let him suffer, is to suffer. Indeed, I am selfish, but do not let that fact cause Gimli misery."

Gloin took a slow breath. "Selfishness," he said. "We are both selfish." He looked at you then. You were quiet, but you looked like a cloud threatening to thunder.

"Gimli. I am old. I am dying. I have my wealth. I have lived a full life. I won the heart of the most beautiful Dwarf maiden in Middle Earth, and sired a son." He glanced at me, before continuing. "And selfishness has lost me him." He coughed. "Come, before I die, I would regain my son." Then he looked pointedly at me. "Both of my sons."

Acceptance was the last thing either of us expected. My heart leapt. You jumped to your father's side and wept. In those last hours, there was joy in the face of death, as I was welcomed to the House of Durin.

I bothers me, that it took death to reunite you with your father. I used to get lost in thought, thinking that there must have been some way to have repaired your relationship with him sooner, to have spared you the pain of it all earlier. You chastised me, for there was nothing I could have done. It had, and always had been, Gloin's decision.

Father has entered the room again. I feel him staring at me, even though I do not look at him. You still sleep heavily. He says my name, and at first I do not answer. When I do, it is simply to recognize his presence, and allow him to sit beside me.

"How fares he?"

He's not even looking at me as he says it. Actually, he's looking at you, which surprises me.

"He is dying." He knows that. The question was hollow, more of an excuse to talk, really.

He nods, then continues to try and make pointless conversation. Father really has never been good at this.

He compliments the 'blanket' that covers you. I tell him that it is a tapestry of your family line. I don't go into much detail, as I doubt he really cares that much. I suppose I might still have said more than he needed to hear, because now he is commenting about my extensive knowledge of Dwarf culture.

Somehow I feel that you were luckier. You lost your father, first to intolerance, then to death. But in the end, he had accepted you fully. Mine still dances on a fine line between acceptance and rejection. He has never called you 'son'.

"I am sorry."

I look at Thranduil. I am confused, as though the words were spoken in Khuzdul and not Sindarin.

"You think I hate him. You think I only see some dirty, gold-digging caver dweller. For a time, that was true." He is staring at me with a look he reserves for the most serious of conversations. "I hated that you bound yourself to him. I hated that I could not undo it. I wanted him gone. So I tried to make that happen."

What is he talking about? He answers before I can ask.

"I offered him gold, jewels—even land, as a last ditch effort—if only he would leave, and never see you again."

Before I can voice my outrage he continues. "It was wrong of me. I ask your forgiveness."

"Why do you tell me this now?" Does he not think it will naught but upset me?

"I do not know. Perhaps this is the last time I can tell you. The last time it will matter."

I look down at my hands, now fisted on my lap, clutching the fabric of my robes. My knuckles are turning white, a physical manifestation of the anger I am feeling.

"Do you know what he said to me?"

"No," I say. "He never spoke of this to me."

Father smiles. "I suppose he wanted to spare your feelings. He told me, 'I would trade away The Lady's gift, before I would ever give up your son. And I shall not give him up, ever."

He wears a sad smile now, and he strokes my hair briefly.

"I know few who would show such devotion. He has loved you well, and for that I give thanks. But now I fear the pain of his passing will ruin you."

I feel my anger dissolve. Father is not trying to upset me. He is trying to console me. I am grateful, and my anger has turned to something more poignant.

"Ada," I whisper, voice shaking. I want to say more but nothing comes. Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe he does understand.

I rest my head on his shoulder.


	6. The Sea-longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gimli tells Legolas to answer the sea's call, and they sail west.
> 
> Brought to you be these songs:  
> 'Wild Flowers" by Tom Petty  
> "Into the West" by Annie Lennox (as found on the RotK Soundtrack)

Gimli, are you awake yet? 

I want to hear your voice, yet I am hesitant to wake you for conversation. How many conversations do we have left? I've been holding out hope that this moment would never come. Gimli, I need your help, to put everything in perspective. Everything is jumbled. I have so many doubts, so much heaviness in my heart. What will I do when I no longer have you to lighten it? I have not felt so lost since before we sailed to this land.

Sea-longing had taken root in me long before we joined. Those seagulls! Their cries awoke in me an all-consuming desire which was unrivaled by all things, save my feelings for you. For you, I strained against my instinctual need to sail to Valinor. I gave myself reason upon reason to say in Middle Earth—I pledged to aid Elessar, kept busy in Ithillien. I suppose I hid it well enough. I kept up pleasant appearances, spoke of it not. The only one from whom I could not hide was you. You knew the torture I was going through, but you dared not speak of the cause openly. You would attempt to steer me from thoughts of the Grey Havens. Even visiting Gondor was a challenge. Aduin flows through Gondor, its waters always beckoning me to ride their current to Tol Eressea. Of course, Gondor made me uneasy for other, more pressing reasons. 

King Elessar and his Queen, Arwen Evenstar; they were living reminders of our fate. As time went by, your hair began to turn from vibrant copper to pale silver—a visible reminder of the inevitable. You were destined to die, just as Elessar would die, and Arwen would fade in her grief. And I? 

Arwen was lucky. Her heritage gave her the choice between immortality and death. I cannot truly die. My spirit will go to the place of reflection, until it is pure enough to move on. I might be reborn in Valinor, if things go well. But Elves do not die. We are tied to the fate of Arda, until the next Great Music. Death is a privilege denied to Elves, save for Elrond's line. Death is meant as a gift to Men, and therefore it should be valued, but Men fear it. Elves find that to be foolish. I was now faced with a cold truth. You were dying, and I would remain alone. 

I know not where Dwarves go, when they die. You told me once, that Aulë assured your Kings of Old that Dwarves would be accepted as children of Iluvatar, when the world reached it's end. What does that mean? Do Dwarves did in the manner of Men? Or so they go somewhere else? Will all our peoples come together in the Great Song? Will you know who I am, or will you have forgotten me? I do not know, and the uncertainty makes me sick with fear and grief. 

If I were reborn, I would likely never remember you. Only the wisest of our kind are lucky enough to remember, and even that is at great length. I am not so wise. 

While I worried about your mortality, you grew more and more concerned that I might waste away before you expired. The sea-longing was beginning to wear down my spirit. It was a cold, crisp day in the Winter following Elessar's death, when you insisted that I sail. 

I would not hear of it, and you finally grew angry. 

“Stupid Elf! I can't let you stay! It's gnawing at you. I see it every passing moment! I dare not even eat fish in your presence, for fear it might aggravate your constant melancholy! You must listen to me. You must sail for Valinor!”

“By all the stars, Gimli, do you really wish to push me away?” I was panicking. I felt like a bird who had been trapped in a cage for so long, that when it's door was finally opened it had forgotten how to fly. 

“Oh, Mahal! Legolas, do not speak nonsense. I do not wish to lose you.”

“Then I will stay!”

You threw up your hands and growled. “Would that I could go with you! I would drag you to the Western lands and throw you to the shore myself.”

Go with me? 

The thought, that simple thought, had never crossed my mind. The concept of a Dwarf sailing to Valinor was incomprehensible, until that very moment. 

“Why not?” I asked. 

You looked at me, dumbfounded. You may have spoken the words but, unlike me, you had not considered the possibility.

“Why not what?” You grumbled. 

“Come with me.”

Your eyes softened with a hurt that only an empty promise could bring. “Speak not of dreams, Legolas. You know I would follow you to the ends of Arda, but 'tis folly to think that a Dwarf might be accepted among the Eldar.”

“Why not?” Thoughts clicked into place like the pieces of a puzzle. “Is it not said that all that exists in Middle Earth also exists in Valinor? If so, why not a dwarf? Not just any dwarf! Gimli, son of Gloin, Lord of Algarond, Elf-friend, Lockbearer, and one of the Nine Walkers!” 

You did not looked convinced. I continued. 

“And most importantly you are Gimli, my lover, my mate. We are joined. Come with me. So long as you follow me, I will never wander wither you may not. If you do not go, neither shall I.”

You hand was warm on my face as you pushed back a strand of hair, letting your hand linger in the tresses. 

“You know, I used to watch you, after Lothlorien. We went so quickly from harsh words to friendship, it seemed dreamlike. Not long after, I could no longer think in terms of 'you' or 'I', only 'us'. Do you remember, that first time, how I begged you to leave me to my secrets? How I was scared to share my feelings?”

I nodded. 

“All I could think about was that I needed to stay near you. If it meant a lifetime of silence, I could live with it. And the very thought that you would feel the same for me...I think that terrified me more than a dismissal.”

“I do not understand.”

“This,” you tried to explain. “All of this. As friends, I could remain close to you, never revealing my heart, but as lovers...Oh! Before that first night Legolas, I felt that even if I had your heart, I could never be satisfied...I could have lived without knowing. And now, every time I take you in my arms I am filled with greater joy than the last...but ever after do I feel like we have only brushed the surface. I fear we shall never be close enough.”

I knew what you meant. I had felt it too. Was it a sign of our differences? Are Elves and Dwarves so innately incompatible? Would it ever be possible to obtain such unity?

“Gimli, no matter what happens, this I swear to you. So long as we are together, nothing shall keep me from trying.”

My words were marked with hope and determination, and soon both were echoed in your face as you responded with a grin: “Well, in that case, when do we set sail?”

I do not think I have ever kissed you so deeply. 

We sailed on the first of Spring. We came to Valinor with such hope. It was a crazy, foolish, perfect decision. We knew not what we would find when we reach the Western shores...but we were together. No matter what came to pass, we would not be parted. And so, when we did finally spot the snowy peaks of the Pelóri, there was little we feared. 

I watched as the Elves rushed out to meet the sip. It had been long since the last vessel had entered the harbor, and there was much excitement. Rowboats approached our ship and I threw down a ladder. My breath held as the first Elf climbed over the side, to see you and I standing side by side. His face quickly turned from joy and excitement to what I could only call shock and dismay. 

“Who...what? What is the meaning of this?” He asked in Sindarin, looking wildly between the two of us.

“I am Legolas Thranduilion, of Eren Lesgladen. This is Gimli, son of Gloin.”

“But...He's—”

“A dwarf!” 

Another Elf was now peering over the rail. There was a chain of voices sounding from below, heralding the arrival of such an unusual traveler. 

The first elf stood dumbfounded. The second was more verbal as he stormed aboard the ship, glaring at me. “Why would you bring a Dwarf to these shores? He has no right!”

“And who is to decide that, Lad?” You practically growled back. “You? Are you master here?”

He looked at you, surprised. “You speak Sindarin.”

“Aye, and a bit of Quenya too, if you dare think to speak that instead.”

The first Elf spoke up. “What is going on here? Explain.”

I gripped your shoulder firmly, both to stay your anger and to steady my nerves as I spoke. “Gimli is my long time companion. He walked alongside Frodo Baggins, the Ring Bearer, in the fight against Sauron.”

“Many fought Sauron. This does not make the Dwarf exceptional.”

“He is a friend and ally to Elves. Lady Galadriel knows him to be brave and true. And,” I continued, when the Elf remained unmoved, “He and I are one before Iluvatar. I will not enter Valinor without him.”

Both Elves visibly blanched. There was much murmuring. No doubt others had heard. News that Thranduil's son had wed a Dwarf would reach land before we neared the shore. Making it quite clear that it would take orders from someone much higher than our welcome committee to keep us out, I led you over the rails and onto the smaller boat. Under the ageless eyes, we boldly made our way to land.

If the sight of a Dwarf on Valinor's shores was shocking to our hosts, nothing prepared them for the sight of Lady Galadriel embracing you upon our arrival. She was smiling in the knowing way of hers.

“I had hoped to meet you both upon these shores,” she said, the light of her eyes dancing like stars and her hair shining in the sun. She shown more brilliantly in this holy land than she ever did in Middle Earth. Gandalf was there, his commanding presence ever tempered by his smile. Whispers jumped through the gathering crowd, as vexed Elves tried to make right the sight of two esteemed beings greeting a Dwarf like olds friends. 

Then there came a great hush, and the voices silenced. I was like sound itself was unmade, for I could not even hear the beating of my own heart. The crowd parted as two Beings descended. 

Neither of us needed to be told to kneel. 

The Smith Lord and Lady of the Earth, approached. No words were spoken, but the exchange yet rings in my head. There was a swirling of thoughts, voices, and images fluttered through my mind. Time was frozen. Time raced. I once had thought Galadriel's gaze was heavy. It was nothing like this...this...

I realized that I was being interrogated. What they were looking for I knew not. All I knew what my mind what spinning, whirling, and overturned. I searched desperately to hold on to something. Finally, I found it. One word. 

“Closer.”

I do not know if I said it aloud, but it was enough, it seemed, for the creator of the Dwarves and his spouse to lift us from their scrutinizing gaze. When my eyes refocused I saw Aulë and Yavana smiling upon us.

“Iluvatar is kind,” is all they said, before bidding us to stand. It felt like a promise. I knew then, that you would not be turned away.

“Have you not moved since last night, love?” 

You have awoken; one small prayer answered. You need not hear my reply to know it is true.

“Legolas, you need to take in some fresh air. It's not healthy to stay cooped up beside my bed. I will be fine for a couple of hours.”

I shake my head, and you sigh. “Stubborn Elf” is all the admonishment I receive.

“I prefer to talk awhile.”

“Then I shall listen.”

It takes me a moment to think of where to start. You huff, give me a snarky nod of the head, and gesture to bid me speak. On any other occasion, I might have laughed.

“I cannot help feeling like they lied to us, Gimli,” I say, finally.

“Who did?” 

“The Valar.” 

You give me a look of understanding and shake your head. “The Valar of this land are not liars. All the dishonest Maiar have gone down with Sauron. You need to keep faith.” You grab my hand and squeeze. “They would not have allowed us both here, simply to break their promise now.”

My gaze lingers on the hand that holds mine. It is old and wrinkled—different from the strong hands of your youth—but they still hold steady and secure. There is a comfort in them that I have found nowhere else. Soon they will be a memory. You watch me with fond eyes as I gently kiss your roughened knuckles. 

“Legolas?”

“Hm?”

“Why am I wrapped in a tapestry?”

I laugh for the first time in days. 

“I found it in the chest,” I explained. “You looked cold.”

You were grinning as you inspected the cloth. “Mahal's beard. I had almost forgotten. A reminder of my age, I suppose. I did not mean for it to be hidden away.” 

“I had not seen it since...”

“...we knocked it down.” You finished for me. Your wear a fond smile as you trace the golden runes.

“I did not know you still had it. I had not thought on it since that night.”

“Aye. I kept it close. Never disregard an heirloom.” You hover over a few runes and make an unsatisfied grunt. “I tried to finish it, but my hands are not what they used to be. I waited too long. My hands now ache after only a few stitches.”

“I could finish it for you,” I offered. “If you would show me how. You said your spouse is meant to add your name, did you not?”

You nodded. “Aye, it is so. Alas, my name is already finished.”

You pointed to the end of the tree. You had taught me enough of your language for me to recognize the characters marking your name. I had not noticed the signs at first, for they were running into a bit of lettering that I did not recognize. 

“There is yet one more name to add. Yours.” 

I cannot stop myself from kissing you. How? How do you always manage to make me feel so loved? You always find new ways to show how much you care, even now, when you should be caring about yourself. Where shall I find such love when you are gone?

“I wish...I wish I could have granted you children,” you breathe as we break apart. 

I blink at the statement, so unexpected. “What?”

“A piece of me, that could never leave you. Another name for this list. Someone to comfort you, when I...”

I place a finger to your lips. “Don't. You should not dwell on regret. Let us test my needlework.”

Under your tutelage, I take up golden thread and begin work on my name.

I will make the most of what time we have. 

It will not be long, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever. I tried to write this a bunch of times in the last few months, but it only really came together today. Still don't know if I like it. It feels like I'm turning this fic into a pile of mushy piece of drivel. One more chapter gaiz!


	7. Close Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli's time is up.
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by the following song:
> 
> 'No Air" by Jordin Sparks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm gonna apologize now for basically waiting a year-ish to post this final chapter. 
> 
> I'm SO sorry. I just found it hard to kill Gimli. ;.;
> 
> But, lookie! I finally finished a WHOLE MULTI-CHAPTER STORY. 
> 
> This is a milestone for me. 
> 
> ALSO: I kinda flipped out when I saw DoS and Bard found a blue and gold tapestry with the Durin family tree on it. That was crazy!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, and sorry it is so sad...I tried to think up something a little happy at the end. At least, it makes me feel better about the end.

I finish the embroidery in a matter of hours. The speed in which I finish serves as a cold reminder of how weak my love has become. You are sleeping again, and your old and wrinkled hands are folded on your chest. They are so different from my own hands, long and slender and pale. Yours are stout and wide as they has always been, skin still dark and roughened from years of working at the forge, despite that you have not crafted any metal for so long, now. Your hands are now all but devoid of the strength they once possessed, a strength that was always so sweetly tempered with gentleness as you held me close.

Physical intimacy was never the most important thing, but our shared fear, that feeling that we were missing something, ever pervaded our senses. Our loving was fierce and passionate, both of us trying to quench this undying need to become one, trying to push ourselves together. But always, completion was just out of reach. I had thought that a life in Valinor would ease this yearning, would cure this chronic condition. But now, you are dying, and it has been long since we indulged in more carnal urges. 

We have run out of time. You will go to your maker's Halls. I will live in grief. Our only chance to meet again will be when Arda is remade...and even that holds uncertainty. Will my fea find yours in the second song? I keep your true name in my heart, to guide me when the time comes. How long must we wait to be reunited? Will we truly be one, then? So many questions, and I have no answers. I have only promises, intangible as the faded elves of ages past, and they now seem all but broken.

Aule and Yavanna...they promised...something. I know they did. “Iluvatar is kind.” It was not just permission for you to stay here with me. It was hope, hope that we might truly be together, as any elf couple—souls knitted together, to the end of the world and beyond. How that could be, I do not know. I once childishly entertained the thought that you might not die here, but that is not the way of the Valar. They do not change the fates of mortals. At most they will cut short the life of Elves...but in our case, would that help? I think not. There will be no repeat of Beren and Luthien. I have grown weary of it all, for I can see no happy ending.

Our life here, at least, has been filled with many joys. I thought perhaps that we might still encounter some hostility from the Elves who still held grudges from the past, and indeed there were many that remained aloof, but many of the Elves here had never seen a Dwarf before, and their curiosity won out. Some seemed incredulous that a race so much smaller than they could prove so troublesome to their kin in Middle Earth—a belief quickly squashed when they saw your strength, skill, and courage. Those who were repulse by your appearance initially were mostly won over by your charm, and humbled by the attentions you drew from Aule.

The Lord of Crafts has indeed shown you much favor. When you were yet able, together you worked on new projects. Aule, I have found, takes joy in your presence. Never has one of his children lived upon these shores, and never has he had a student so willing to learn for the sake of learning, for the sake of creating beauty. I think it must be a balm to him, having had so many of his pupils twist his knowledge into something sinister. Perhaps that was Aule's true punishment for creating the Dwarves. Perhaps you are his true forgiveness. Yavanna is less revealing. She does not speak so freely as her husband, and when she does it often seems in riddles. Perhaps this is how Dwarves feel when speaking with Elves. But she is gentle and kind, and I marvel at the things she has made. Despite the joys of this land, both their eyes look sad to me. I think it is because they know that your time will end, and they cannot stop it.

There is a hitch in your breath. It isn't loud, but it stirs a fear in me. I can tell: it is time. Your breath is weak and labored. I cry out for someone, anyone, to come and help—but help what? There is nothing to be done. 

“Gimli,” I say gently, soothingly, stroking his cheek, “Gimli, please look at me.” 

You do not open your eyes right away, but you do, and I think it is only because I have asked it. It is selfish. I need to see your eyes, one last look, one last kiss upon your brow, one last whispered “I love you'. Your eyes flicker when I say it, and I know you are saying it too, though you cannot voice it. 

There is a hand on my shoulder, and I am being pulled away. I struggle in surprise, desperate to get back to you, but the hand is too strong. No, please! Do not take me away! Not now! I hear myself begging. Is it myself? The voice seems so foreign to me, so angry, so broken. Soon, I find myself in another pair of arms, wrapped in a warm and equally strong embrace that I might have found comforting in any other setting. I am still struggling when soft words pour into my ear in a language unknown to me...words that suddenly leave me slack and dumbfounded. I cease to resist.

It is Yavanna. She is holding me. She is praying.

Aule is at your side. It was he who pulled me from you. It seems he speaks similarly in your ear.

Their voices lull me into a state of consciousness unlike when they first questioned our arrival. There is nothing. I do not feel the word spinning. I feel it stop completely. Time seems frozen still, except for this Lord and Lady who continue to move and whisper. Do I breath? I am uncertain. I think all breath has left me. Am I dying too? Soon, even these thoughts leave me, and I find I no longer feel. 

...Blank. 

Aule is moving, now, and it barely registers as he smoothes the hair from my love's face, and leans down. He kisses his mouth, and the air changes. 

Gimli is gone.

I know tears are falling from my eyes, but like everything else, I do not feel them. I am numb. Is this their promise? Is their solution to leave me without pain or joy of love? I am thinking these things...Do I think? Thinking seems irrelevant...

Aule is now before me. His eyes pierce me—somehow this is the only thing that seems real...his eyes, warm like fire, cold as steel...

His lips are on mine now, and I find I can breath. 

I am released, and I am laughing. Tears are not even dry upon my cheeks, Gimli is dead, but I am laughing. There is a joy inside me that I cannot process, and it wells up inside, overflowing, like all the best moments of my life have been distilled into something pure and unclouded. 

But not my life.

Our lives.

The best moments of my life were you. All you. 

For a moment, we are one...truly. Completely. And I think, however fleeting this may be, I can live on this, the certainty that we never had whilst you lived. 

I will weep. I will mourn. But it will not be the end.

Gimli, I think...I know...we did it.

I love you. I will find you.

We are finally close enough.


End file.
